


Secret ink

by lorinhazuzu



Category: One Direction
Genre: Bit sad, F/M, M/M, larry stylinson - Freeform, pining?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorinhazuzu/pseuds/lorinhazuzu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis’ always been under his skin, and Harry thinks it’s time he’s on his skin too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret ink

**Author's Note:**

> This is short, and a bit sad I think, not too much though, cause I don't think I could take it haha

He does it himself. Buys it online and gets it delivered because he doesn’t trust that this won’t get out if he goes to his usual place.

He doesn’t want this to get out, so he practices again and again, if only on paper, before doing it on himself, not trusting anyone else to do it. Not this. This is his. This is always ever going to be his.

He’s not sure about how he feels after he gets it. Giddy? Oddly calm? It’s a contradiction of feelings that seem to pull him in every which way, and makes him feel centred, as if he knows what he has to do now.

He does.

He walks into the bathroom, stares at himself. He’s no different like this, when the clothes cover the ink, but it’s the knowledge that it’s there, on his skin forever, that makes him smile, lips curling upwards in quiet content.

It’s his secret.

Things don’t change much after that, and Harry’s pleased that no one seems to have the smallest inkling about the new addition to his body. Not the media, or the fans or the boys. Not Louis.

Their lives are a crazy whirlwind of busy, busy, busy, but like they say in those never ending interviews, they always find that little bit of time off, which Harry mostly uses to just…stop. Lying around the place, going to see friends so he can have company whilst doing nothing all day.

And he watches. Watches as Louis runs off with Eleanor as soon as they have any free time, that awful, unwanted feeling creeping up his spine and making him shudder.

His fingers reach for that place, just on the side of his hipbone, thumbing at it over the denim fabric of his trousers, and he feels better. It doesn’t hurt any less, but it helps, it makes it easier to accept.

Acceptance is something he’s learnt to live with.

Sometimes, when Louis leaves, Harry straightens his shoulder, calling whoever and leaving mere minutes later, determined not to let if affect him, or ruin his day. Nick and Ed are his favourite choices, because though they can tell something’s wrong, they never ask, never pry, instead they come up with something crazy or weird for them to do that will distract Harry, take his mind off things for a while. 

When he reunites with the boys, he’s back to his usual cheerful, quirky self, and none of them are the wiser.

There are times however, when he sees Louis leaving, arms around Eleanor’s waist, and he’ll come up with an excuse of being tired and retreat back to his room. His shoulders will slump and smile will fade slowly from his face as the door closes behind him. He’ll shut the curtains, hiding under the duvet, feeling so weak, breakable that he’s scared mere sunlight might shatter him to pieces too small for him to ever stick back together. An that. That can’t happen, because Louis’ coming back in a few hours, and no matter what, he has to put himself back together by then, has to be cheerful and happy and crazy, has to fit the role of the best friend that he’s now to broken and jagged to fit into as comfortably as he once did, because being his best friend is now his biggest source of pain, but also what makes him the happiest, and he thinks it’s unfair that something that hurts him so badly is also able of making him so happy.

But, he reminds himself, that’s the way it is, and his hand will run down his stomach, touching lightly until he reaches the black ink, so dark against that part of his body that is never tan, and he’ll trace the letters there over and over, the two short words, nobody will ever see or understand.

He takes deep breaths, because the tattoo reminds him of something important; that he does have a part of Louis, no matter how small, and that he is Louis’ best friend, something he’s proud of and never wants to lose.

And yes, maybe it’s a bit unbalanced, considering the fact that Louis has all of Harry, all parts of him without even knowing, but Harry will take what he can get, take it and protect it and keep it close to him always.

Then, he’ll remind himself of his promise, the one painted on his skin, the one he made the day he got the two words tattooed: that a part of Louis is all he’d ever need, that he’d make it be enough, and so, he re-emerges from his room hours later, eyes bright, lips upturned, throwing an arm over Louis’ shoulder asking “How was the date, mate?”

And everything is fine, it is, because he makes it be fine, and no one knows otherwise.

It’s his secret.


End file.
